Lindsay

If I could tell you who I was in a paragraph, I would be better off than I have been in a long time. I've got my fingers in too many pies, and always have. I'm a writer, with an unpublished novel, that got shopped around (unsuccessfully) by a literary agent in NYC, who I later fired on the poor advice of the Canadian Writers' Union, only to find myself even more helpless than before. With only about 25 agencies in Canada, and most of them being specialized, its hard to get something published unless youre gay/lesbian, feminist, or aboriginal.
Im a musician, who never wanted to be one. With a family who has a musical history too complex to describe here, I was apparently enrolled in Royal Conservatory piano lessons at the age of 4. The rest is a miserable experience. That is, until I discovered clarinet, and more importantly guitar. I can play enough Sonatas by memory to fill a binder, and Ive got a trained ear that converts most indie bands into physical pain, but dont ask me to name you jazz chords.
Im a photographer, who fell in love with the darkroom at a young age, and was lucky enough to meet and be mentored by such accomplished artists as Bryan Adams (yes, THAT Bryan Adams), and Irma Eibich. Ive participated in the annual Toronto Photography Festival, paying for my art by doing headshots for bands, actors, and dreamers on the side. My true joy comes from working with liquid light (a liquid photosensitive emulsion) on canvas and plaster casts of my own body, projecting images onto 3D surfaces.
Im an MA student, in English Literature with a specialization in Victorian literature, a dream that the academic route might lead to publication, and a big tattoo of the Cheshire Cat on my right ankle. Im a programmer, sci-fi, anime, gaming, pc nerd. Im a knitter, embroiderer, and crotchetier. Im a tattoo addict, and forever-recovering stoner. Im the only girl I know who loves to work on her car and play hockey. I dont trust other women, unless we share DNA, with the exception of my mother. I was a kick-ass band manager, who left the business to get away from moody, fickle musicians, only to find myself surrounded even more. Im a Jew who religiously wears a Buddhist mantra on her right wrist. Im a lacto-ovo vegetarian, and have been for 9 years. I have an irrational fear of Curious George, eggplants, and pine trees in the dark. I suffer from an adult anxiety disorder caused by emotional trauma in childhood, and Im extraordinarily attracted to vampires, pirates, and classically trained thespians with accents.
I'm a painter, who managed to put 15 different washes on 15 different canvases during a bout of depression that almost ended my life. On a particularly doomed day, I found myself in the company of a crisis nurse at one of the few emergency rooms that the city hadnt closed down. I had made a stop there on my way to throw myself from the 10th floor of a condo on Bathurst St.. I was sitting on the cold brushed-metal table of the examination room clutching my chest, when the nurse walked in and made an assumption that would save my life. Youre an artist. Arent you?. I couldnt have answered if Id wanted to. It was rhetorical anyway. She continued, We get a lot of you people in here. I was perhaps too apathetic to be offended, and continued to focus my attention on my shoes. What do you do?, she asked, as she took a seat and propped her clipboard up against her knee. I paint,, I whispered. The nurse rolled her eyes, as though I had just stated the obvious. There was a short interrogation about what my specific plans to off myself involved, and she scribbled something on her palm with the rope pen around her neck. Then she leaned in, and said Whats the most recent thing youve painted?. I put a green wash on a canvas about a year ago, I admitted. She straightened her posture, and shifted her weight on the chair. Well then, she said in a very factual way I expect to see you back here in this emergency room in 2 weeks with a completed painting on this green canvas youve made.. It was as though she actually expected me to take orders in the state I was in. But she wasnt finished yet. I need you to promise youll meet me in two weeks time. Do you promise?, she pressed. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. I was ready to slam my car into the back of whatever building I could find, and she wanted me to come to show-and-tell. And almost without breathing, I said I promise.. I meant it, and with every bit of courage I had left in me. It felt right that a stranger was willing to bet my life on nothing but my word. And this simple, perhaps nave, act had given my life value against my will, because someone trusted me. There was, indeed, a painting in two weeks time. After which, there was a life.
She later explained to me why so many artists find themselves in emotional crisis: Artists are born with highly developed emotional depth. They take in feelings on a much stronger level than most of the population, and it can destroy them as much as it can lift them to unimaginable heights. Most of the time, the overflow, the feelings and thoughts that cannot be processed by the artists brain, end up pouring out in the form of music, or dance, or paintings, etc., and thus become externally organized. But when there is just simply too much to channel, it churns inside the artist, and blocks off the creative outlets. Being an artist in whatever form, is a burden and a blessing. However, as artists, we have a responsibility to be the voice for the rest of humanity in an intermediary way. Most of mankind was not born with the ability to feel on such a deep level. They might simply feel that something is bothering them subconsciously, but they need help to identify what it is, and let it go. Just look at the way John Lennons Imagine was embraced by a generation. The onus falls on the artists to have the courage, the ability, the innate talent, and the voice for our brothers and sisters who dont. The world needs artists, and so of course, ridding it of one more is out of the question.
I dream of a cottage somewhere on a lake in northern Ontario with my 1920s Underwood typewriter perched on a table by the window, and a golden retriever named Bowie by my side. This dream sometimes relocates to the south of Spain when my seasonal affected disorder kicks in around November.
LINKS & PLUGS
"CTPT Knitters" Blog
See my knitting projects!
"The Mikel Fromstein Gallery"
Please check out the gallery link above. Mikel is one of my oldest friends (since we were both 3 yrs old!), and an incredible talent.
Trip Photos: UK, Spain, & Holland 2004
A beautiful and adventure-packed journey. Be sure to check out the travel journal as well.
More Photos
Use Guest Login = solargrl Password = guest Including........New Years Eve 2005
Halloween 2005
New York City 2005
Lindsay's Facebook
I'm way more active on Facebook these days.
My younger brother, Brad. VERY talented film-maker, animator and artist....soon to be rich & famous....at which time I will move (uninvited) into his Los Angeles estate and require him to hire my ex-boyfriends to dance for quarters to the sweet melody of the Mexican Hat Dance, while I sip pool-side martinis and dedicate my life to mooch-hood. CHECK IT OUT! Brad's awesome demo reel here!

Have you ever been so bored that you check to see if your name is a dot-com?